


rocket man (burning out his fuse up here alone)

by peppermintyero



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Canon Compliant, Homophobic Language, Multi, elton john really does SLAP, even in death he's a fucking piece of shit, i mean in my own special way dksdk bc i've definitely taken some....gay creative liberties, i've also decided steve has epilepsy. why? because i can, i've decided robin's last name is scoops. stay mad about it, people are struggling and those people's names are steve and robin, read: i've made them all lesbians, takes place right after the closing of the gate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-22 10:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19665322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintyero/pseuds/peppermintyero
Summary: Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington and Robin ‘Three Strike Dyke’ Scoops are perfect for each other.Example: Steve seems to only attract the company of young children and lesbians. Robin seems to only attract the company of old people and straight guys.And this summer is going to be perfect now that they’ve found each other.Until it isn’t.( Alternatively titled: The Remaining Weeks of the Summer of 1985, set to the music of Elton John )





	1. border song (he's my brother let us live in peace)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i want more robin and steve and i love elton john so....this happened. this chapter kinda uh sucks ass because i just needed to get robin and steve off the hill somehow bc i refuse to believe that the scoops troop just...walked home.
> 
> tw for heavy use of the d slur in a negative light. robin's gonna call herself a dyke a lot in later chapters but like...it's only cool when SHE says it. 
> 
> let's rock n roll y'all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the battle of starcourt is over.  
> and there is still over a month left of summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i want more robin and steve and i love elton john so....this happened. this chapter kinda uh sucks ass because i just needed to get robin and steve off the hill somehow bc i refuse to believe that the scoops troop just...walked home.
> 
> tw for heavy use of the d slur in a negative light. robin's gonna call herself a dyke a lot in later chapters but like...it's only cool when SHE says it. 
> 
> let's rock n roll y'all

If anyone was to ask Steve what he expected to come from his Summer job at ‘Scoops Ahoy!’, he probably wouldn’t have thought to say, ‘a broken nose, a new best friend, the complete destruction of said ice cream store and the mall it was inside of and multiple deaths.’

But considering the things that taken place the year prior, maybe he should have.

Things had just happened so quickly.

72 hours, the well-dressed, tight-lipped government official had said to him as he was loaded into the ambulance. His parents had reported him missing because they realized they hadn’t seen Steve in nearly four days. “Well you can tell ‘em I’m fine. Oh, and tell my mom I can’t pay her back for breaking that vase until next month, I have the feeling I’m not gonna get paid this week,” he had joked. Maybe. He was smiling when he said it, but it didn’t feel as ‘ha-ha funny’ as he intended, “I didn’t even get to collect my tips. Robin spent my half on a dictionary.”

Steve had locked eyes with Robin as someone taped something over his nose. An orange blanket draped her ever shoulders, she sat on the hood of a police car next to, towered over even, a petite female officer. Robin smiled his way, waving for a moment, and he kept his eyes on her even as she was called over to speak to another officer, even through the tinted window as they closed the ambulance door and began driving away from the turned-over cars and body bags and what ever has left of Starcourt.

He heard from Ms. Byers that Erica's mom had picked her and Dustin up. They were safe. And Robin was right there, a couple of feet away. Safe. 

Heading swimming, Steve picked at a bloody scab on his cheek before his hands was pulled away from his face by gentle hands. “I don’t think I’ve peed in, like, 48 hours. Is that something you guys need to know?” Steve had pondered out loud as the paramedic went to remove that stupid sailor hat. She smiled but didn’t answer the question.

The ride was long and uneventful, just like every other ambulance ride he’d been subjected to. Steve answered the questions they asked him. No, he didn’t know what he was injected with. Yes, he was pretty sure he was concussed. No, he didn’t have a penicillin allergy. Yes, he had a history of seizures.

Steve let them take blood. Steve let them set his nose and tape gauze over his eye and take his shirt off so that they could prod at his ribs and the tender skin around his hip. Steve even let them ask invasive questions about the scarring on his upper thigh.

Squeezing his eyes shut as the metal of some kind of tool reflected bright red and blue into his face, Steve cursed under his breath. He just wanted to get this over and done with.

“Steve, can you sing me something?” The paramedic asked suddenly, the one with the gentle hands.

He’d done this before, when he got concussed playing baseball when Sebastian Statford hit the ball into the back of his head. It was meant to keep him awake.

“Uh, yeah, sure, uh, gimme a second,” he mumbled, racking his brain for a song.

The only thing that came to his brain was fucking Total Eclipse of the Heart.

_“And if you could only hold me tight!” Steve had sung, knees jerking against Robin’s calf, her head titled back in laughter. “We’ll be holding on forever!”_

“Steve, are you okay? What’s so funny? Are you feeling okay?”

“Sorry, I’m fine, uh, okay, I got one,” he managed to word through his laughter. “Hope you guys like Bonnie Tyler and Kermit the Frog.”

* * *

Robin didn’t really understand the question’s the cops asked her. Was she supposed to know who the fuck Dr. Martin Brenner was? And who in God’s name was Bob Newby?

“Listen, I don’t know who those people are, I don’t know what this stuff means,” Robin said, voice tense, as she pushed the papers thrust in her face away, “Doesn’t matter how many gnarly pictures you show me. I’ve told you everything I know, now I wanna know where you took my friend and go home. _Please_.”

The officer, Officer Carlton, seemed to deflate and waiting a moment before nodding sternly and tucking the papers into a manila folder, a defeated ‘okay then’ escaping her lips before walking away.

Robin sat herself down on the bonnet of the police car. She felt so _tired._ The same tiredness she felt after a conversation with her mom. If that conversation had gone on for three days. And she was off her face for the last five hours of it.

She looked up at the sky, patchy with clouds and teaming with helicopters. People had died, she knew that much.

That Hargrove piece of shit from school. Dead. For, like, forever.

He used to heckle her during band. It had been and his little friends that came up with ‘Three Strike Dyke.’

Because what could be possibly funnier than a lesbian watching a total of one high school softball game practice?

Robin let out a scoff, wet and in the back of her throat, at the memory. She fucking hated softball. She fucking hated Billy Hargrove.

_“Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?”_

_“Oh, uh, just watching, sorry. I’m in band, we’re me-“_

_“Wow, hey guys, get a look at this! We better pack up boys. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot softball was a dyke-only sport!”_

_“…I’m just gonna go, okay? I wasn’t trying to start anything.”_

_“No, no, stick around. You’re the expert after all. You any good? ‘Course you are, fucking Three Strike Dykes, am I right? Well, come on down here and show me what you’ve got!”_

Officer Carlton came back a moment later and rattled out her contact information, just in case Robin happened to suddenly understand any of this. Robin readjusted herself on the hood, looking up for a split second.

_Steve._

There was an ambulance parked across from her and she almost didn’t make his face out with so much of the blood cleaned off and the bandage across his nose. But it was Steve.

She rose a hand, waving quickly and he quirked a smile in acknowledgment as his gurney was hoisted up.

Then Robin was ushered to another cop and was given a bottle of water and was guided into the back seat of the cop car she had been sitting on.

The past hour had felt like such an out-of-body experience that the tinny sound from the police radio felt like a jump-start through out her whole body.

Her visible jump was clearly taken as disapproval by the officer and his hand went over and turned the volume down. It was a barely noticeable change.

“Yeah, we’ve got at least twelve confirmed causalities so far, we’ve still got to go over the missing persons’ made over the past week,” a scratchy voice said through the radio.

Twelve.

 _At least_ twelve.

Probably more.

Robin wondered how she was supposed to explain this to her dad.

Fucking Starcourt alien Russian bullshit.

This shit would have never happened if she got a job at Baskin Robinns.


	2. don't let the sun go down on me ( frozen here on the ladder of my life )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> robin paid attention to everything. noticed everything. thought things through. 
> 
> steve acted on impulse. took risks that may not have been calculated but were risks he was always willing to take.
> 
> they were perfect together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back for chapter two! this has been really well received which highkey shocked me lol
> 
> robin and steve are yet to actually interact (i promise they do next chapter) but now the adrenaline's worn off so here they are, feeling like shit and their family dynamics. i know every steve fic ever has decided steve's parents are assholes but i like to think they're like steve and are just well-meaning idiots.
> 
> and once again, no re-reading here, we posted unedited work like men dkjsdkj

The hug Robin receives from her mom when she steps out of the police car is probably the most shocking thing to have happened in the past few days.

The Scoops’ just weren’t a hugging family. And God knows Robin and her mom weren’t the closest.

But Robin still cries. She lets her arms stay limp at her side, head pressed against her mom’s shoulder and just _cries_. Her mom follows suit.

Eventually she lifts her gaze and sees her dad, stone faced as always, speaking to the police officer.

What, Robin wonders, could he possibly tell him?

_Hi, Mr. Scoops is it? Yes, well you see we picked your daughter up after Starcourt Mall - I assume you’re familiar? Yes, well we picked her up after the mall practically exploded, killing a giant flesh-spider made from the bodies of at least twenty possessed corpses. She was also tortured and drugged by Russian intelligence for information but, don’t worry, we checked her over and all we found was a strained ankle and we gave her a bottle of water. Do you happen to know if your healthcare plan covers therapy?_

“Robin,” her mom had said in a quiet, cracked voice, “let’s get inside. Let’s get you cleaned up and out of this uniform.”

She doesn’t have much choice expect to let her mom take her by the shoulders and walk up those three porch steps.

Robin honestly couldn’t remember the last time her mom acted like this. Like a _mom._

There had been times where Robin had come home from school with bruises and scratches on her cheeks and rips in the seams of her clothes and her mom had called her reckless and irresponsible.

“Mom?” Robin’s voice is too shaky for her own liking. “Uh, I need to go to the hospital. Not for me,” she confirms quickly when her mother’s eyes widen. “Ste-This guy from work, he got hurt, they took him to the hospital. I need to see him. Tonight. After I get changed.” It was too weird to explain, and Robin could barely speak in full sentences because she knew it’d end with her bringing up something new she’d have to explain to her parents.

“Jesus, Rob, are you serious?” Her dad was behind her now, clearly finished up with the officer. “You just got home, and-and you could’ve _died_! And now you wanna see some person from work?”

Robin hated being called Rob.

And she hated when her dad tried to treat her like she didn’t know what she wanted.

“He was hurt, okay? He was hurt and he’s, like, my best friend and it’s not even just him. There are kids that were hurt too.” Robin pressed her palms against her eyes, head aching suddenly, trying her very hardest to not turn and run to her room.

She noticed her dad had turned the TV off. Never a good sign. The last time he turned the TV off was when Robin spent the night at Claudia Nyguen’s house…

“Robin. You need to understand what we’ve been through,” her mother started, leaning against the chest of drawers the television sat on, eyes wet with tears. Tear Robin knew she probably wouldn’t shed. Crying once was already a tall order for her.

“We thought you were at Trixie Martino’s house this whole time, then we get a phone call saying you were kidnapped and some bullshit about Russia?! Jesus Christ, Robin!”

They didn’t understand. They never understood.

 _Steve_ understood.

He understood her even when he saw her as the ugly, smart-ass band geek he got stuck scooping ice cream with. Smirking her way when she was stuck with a customer who had been in line for ten minutes, yet still had no idea what they wanted. Telling her to not even bother reading A Streetcar Named Desire over the Summer because the copies at the back of the school library already had notes in them.

Robin let her parents shout and cry and say they were scared and say they were confused. She’d learnt by now that nothing she had to say, no matter how right is usually was, changed anybody’s minds.

“We’ll take you down to Hawkins General in the morning.”

“First thing.”

“Yeah, sure, first thing,” her had mumbled, hands pressed against his forehead.

Robin hadn’t been asking a question, she didn’t need that to be phrased as an answer.

But she still nodded and went to shower. It all felt too normal as she did. Robin used the same Strawberry Shortcake 2-in-1 shampoo that she always did, picked at the pimples on her back like she always did, wrote out music notes on the fogged-up glass of the shower as she always did.

Just another Saturday.

She didn’t even cry when all the blood and vomit and black shit mixed into the water around her feet and her swollen ankle.

* * *

Steve wasn’t allowed to sleep.

His concussion was too serious for them to allow him to just yet.

And Steve honestly couldn’t complain, he wasn’t tired. He was more-or-less content sitting up in the cold, shit quality hospital bed. His eye just felt numb and tingly now and his nose ached.

Was this how those Jewish girls at school felt when they came back from vacation with new noses?

He just wanted to know where the kids were. Where Robin was. Where his parents were.

The nurses had given him a Jell-O cup and a bag of Bugles had been brought in, a gift from Joyce Byers and co. they had said, but Steve had never been less hungry.

He just felt cold and sore and gross.

They’d taken his uniform away when they put the IV in and handed him a hospital gown instead. Steve felt almost naked without it. That had been the only thing he’d worn for a solid 72 hours. He wanted his shorts back.

And they were rentals from Scoops Ahoy anyway, he had to give them back at the end of the Summer.

Steve wasn’t too such if Mr. Kopeki was going to want Robin’s shorts back if she’d peed in them.

_Robin._

God, he hoped she was okay.

The last thing time they’d interacted was when the local news called in the Calvary. He’d seen the news cameras pull in outside the mall, the bright flashing lights of ambulances and fire trunks and cop cars and journalists’ flashbulbs. Robin had lifted a hand to cover his eyes right after they saw it.

Steve had taken his meds in three days and he hadn’t even thought about what would happen if he looked straight into rapid camera flash.

Robin paid attention to everything. Noticed everything. Thought things through.

Steve acted on impulse. Took risks that may not have been well calculated but were risks he was always willing to take.

They worked so good together.

The thin, plastic-y curtain dividing his bed from the rest of the room was pulled aside as a nurse walked in.

“Mr. Harrington?”

Steve wanted to say ‘Mr. Harrington? Uh, no, that’s my dad, call me Steve,’ before he realized, oh, yeah, he’s eighteen now. He _is_ Mr. Harrington.

“There’s a ‘Gloria Harrington’ out in the waiting room, do you want me to send her in?”

_Mom._

Steve’s body visibly slumped into the pillows, relieved. “Yeah, of course, that’s my mom.” He really wanted to see his mom right now.

She wasn’t the best mom in the world, but she tried hard. And that was a lot more than most moms did.

“Stevie, oh thank God,” she exclaimed breathlessly the second she saw him, still in her pajamas.

Steve couldn’t remember the last time his mom left the house without a full face of makeup.

She hugged him, hard, not even looking up when the nurse said to watch out for his stitches and the gauze.

It felt good. Like a real, certified Mom Hug. The ones she saved for birthdays and Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Eventually, she peeled herself away, taking a seat in the plastic chair. “I’d really love if I could get a phone call from the police about you saving a kitten in a tree or donating a kidney or something other than getting your face caved in,” she teased, running a hand through her hair. Just like Steve did when he was nervous.

Steve let his shoulders jump in laughter, ignoring the roar it emanated in his ribs.

“Your dad’ll be here soon.” She answered his unasked question. “He’s still in Muncie for work, but he’s getting the morning bus.”

Good, Steve thought, if his Cold War enactment movies had anything to say about it, he was sure Dad would get a real kick out of the whole Russian government thing.

They don’t do much talking, they split the Bugles and he talked about Suzie’s singing and Erica’s genius brain and just Robin in general.

“Robin, huh? She sounds nice.”

His mom’s intentions were painfully clear.

“Mom, it’s not like that, I swear. She…likes someone else,” he settled with. And it’s not a complete lie. She probably does.

After a good hour and a half, the nurse comes back in to shine more bright, annoying lights in Steve’s eyes and they ask him about the date and his birthday and the President and they give him the all clear to sleep.

His mom stood to go to the bathroom as Steve flopped around the bed, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt his entire person.

“Oh, uh, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“If you hear anything about the kids, or about Robin, I’m giving you full permission to wake me up nd tell me about it, okay?” he had said.

He thought ‘Call them. Find out Lucas Sinclair’s home address and his parent’s place of work and make sure Erica’s okay. Hunt down the Cerebro on that stupid hill and get in contact with Suzie Greene and ask her is Dustin got home safe. Search through every ‘Paul’ in the phone-book until you find one with the last name Scoops, there can’t be that many, and ask him if his daughter Robin is okay.’

Steve really just wanted this summer to go back to normal.


	3. thank you for all your loving ( thank you for being here )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which robin is a nervous mess and steve really likes pepsi ft. steve's mom 
> 
> or
> 
> the lead up to the real conflict of this fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're here for round three! once again, thank you for all the good vibes! we really do stan! and, finally, the clowns reunite! and wowza what a surprise, i didn't re-read this before i posted bc if i did i'd realize how much i hate my own writing and i already HATE this chapter!
> 
> ooh i also feel like i should plug my tumblr, follow me at glindatiggular.tumblr.com for gifsets and musical theatre hot takes.

Much to her parents' dismay, the second Robin’s alarm went off at 7:15 – blaring Gone Daddy Gone of all songs, which was almost too fitting – she was out in the kitchen, dressed and waiting for her mom to look up from her newspaper. Or at least acknowledge her appearance.

“Christ, Robin, is this still about that boy? Do you even know if he’s still at the hospital? Plenty of people went home last night,” her dad had said, exasperated, from his seat at the kitchen table.

He’d tried to talk her out of going last night too, chalking this need she had up to trauma.

"Ya'know, I think we should look at seeing a therapist or something before anything else. You're not in your right mind, trau-"

“Yeah, no shit, Dad,” she’d called back, “But guess who’s probably traumatized too? _Steve_. And I want to make sure he’s okay, I don’t even know if his parents are there, he could be alone!”

Robin never rose her voice at her dad. It was never worth it.

But Steve and those stupid kids were worth it.

“I don’t know who Steve is! And, frankly, I don’t really care,” her dad snapped back, not looking up from the toast he was buttering.

Robin looked to her mother, hands crossed across her chest, and looked for _something._ Anything. Any kind of eye twitch or tug of the lip that showed her disapproval.

There was nothing, she just continued to read her paper, stone-faced.

_Death Toll Climbs Following Starcourt Blaze._

The picture on the front page was of burning buildings and totaled cars and gurney’s covered in white sheets. Robin wanted to pull all her hair out, grab the paper and scream at it, ‘ _you don’t even know what you’re talking about! You know nothing! They weren’t even people, they were disgusting flesh blobs from hell! They tried to kill a little girl! There were Russians under our very feet and I was the one who worked that out! No one can possibly understand this bullshit!’_

And, really, all Robin’s parents were to her 90% were shitty, underpaid journalists. Taking notes on her life and yelling it back to her all wrong.

Robin didn’t even feel traumatized, whatever that was meant to feel like. She just felt sore and tired. 

“I hope you’re aware that if you’re not gonna drive me I’ll find my own way there,” she stated, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, chin up and eyes locked with her dad’s.

It was Robin’s threats of recklessness that always got her dad to do what she wanted. She’d usually never act on then, saying things like ‘okay then, I guess I’ll just cut my hair myself with my craft scissors’. But this felt different.

Robin could easily see herself hitchhiking her way to Hawkins General.

She was, like, an ex-prisoner of war now, she could do _anything._

There was an icy silence for a moment and then a loud sigh of exasperation from her mom.

“Just take her to the damn hospital, Paul.”

* * *

Robin hadn’t sat in a hospital waiting room since her cousin Julia had her baby. It was a lot easier to sit and wait when you knew there was going to be a baby on the other side.

Waiting to find out if the parents of your best friend who had never met you and probably do not know you exist will give you permission to see their bruised and battered son was a less thrilling experience.

Her dad had said he’d wait in the car even though Robin had offered for him to come in. ‘I’m sure Steve would love to meet you,’ she’d said as they pulled into the car-park, her dad’s Austin Maestro just fitting into the too-small parking spot. "I mean, c'mon, he's cool, funny and popular and you work at a pharmacy and watch Family Ties every night. Match made in heaven."

For some crazy reason, Robin’s dad wasn’t into the idea of meeting a strange boy who had just be attacked by Russian authorities in an equally strange turn of events at work.

The receptionist eventually called Robin up to the desk, taking her personal details down in a book and handing her a coveted ‘visitor’ lanyard while Robin fiddled with the steam of the rose she had picked up from the stand as she walked in.

_“Relation to the patient?”_

_“Oh, uh, friend. Best friend. Co-worker…You choose.”_

She’d received an apology for the wait while she was ushered in the direction of Steve’s room, being told that they had been moving _Mr. Harrington_ to another room.

Which was meant to be an aside, but it made Robin’s mind race. Why was he being moved? Where to? Where was he before?

At the end of the hallway, right next to a Pepsi machine which made Robin imagined made Steve _very_ happy, Robin stood, frozen. She expected to see one of those ‘S. Harrington’ signs on the door like they had on TV but there was nothing.

Just the blue-ish glass, the kind you couldn’t see through.

Robin’s hands shook, rocking on her heels before she let herself even touch the doorknob. She opened the door slowly, just in case Steve was still asleep. It was only 8:15 and they had just spent the morning moving him here.

Once Robin had actually entered the Robin, Steve wasn’t even the first person she saw. It was a short, slim woman with hair that was almost as big as Marnie Peterson’s was when she first got her hair permed last year. Robin couldn’t help but think Steve’s hair. She had Steve’s nose too.

Robin suddenly became hyper aware of her hair, still wet and pulled up with a rubber band and her ripped jeans and her Alvin and the Chipmunks shirt.

“Sorry, can I help you with something?” the woman asked, eyebrow raised. She didn’t look amused.

Scratching the back of her neck, palms sweating, Robin’s eyes darted around the room over to the bed in the room. The one that was empty.

“I, uh, I’m Robin. Robin Scoops, I came here to see Steve Harri-” Robin’s stammered explanation was cut off by the door behind her swinging open, hitting her square in the back.

“Damnit, sorry Ma! Wait, Robin?!”

Robin swung her whole around, eyes wide.

Steve. Holding a Pepsi. His eyes, even the one yellowed with bruises, crinkled into a smile as he threw his arms around Robin. “You’re okay. You’re, like, actually okay and alive,” he muttered into her shoulder and Robin suddenly felt a lot less sick.

“Oh my God, Steve, _this_ is Robin? Which one’s the Mormon girl then? You have too many female friends, it’s getting confusing,” Steve’s mother exclaimed, rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Pulling himself away from the hug, Steve exchanged a series of looks with his mom for a beat. Robin couldn’t help but narrow her eyes a little, watching the two have their silent conversation.

“Well,” Steve’s mom eventually said, eyes still locked with her son as she rose from the plastic chair, “I’m going to call your father while you two… _hang_.”

Robin could hear the intentions of the word from a mile away.

“Uh, it’s not like that Mrs. Harrington, I’m no-

“Gloria, please.”

“ _Gloria_ , we’re not… _together_.”

There was another silence, broken by the pop-fizz of Steve opening his Pepsi and Gloria clearly took it as her cue to leave.

Once the door closed, Robin threw herself into the empty chair, breaking into hysterics.

“Oh my God! That was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever had to be apart of! And I was apart of the school production of West Side Story last year!” Robin said through her laughs.

Steve smiled, sat up on the bed, took a long sip of his Pepsi before shaking his head. “That was awful, I’m so sorry you had to witness that. I went to the bathroom for five seconds and everything fell apart.”

It almost felt like they hadn’t been fearing for their lives less than 24 hours ago. Robin could almost ignore the bandages on Steve’s face and the way the hospital gown made him look so grey. If anything, he looked worse than he had last night. At least last night she could pretend it was all going to wash off with the blood.

Robin looked down at her flower before clearing her throat and holding it out awkwardly. “They were 50 cents in the waiting room, don't get a big head,” she remarked as Steve took the rose with a smirk.

“Huh, never pegged you as the Get Well Soon-present type, Scoops. I guess Russian interrogation changes people.”

The two had chuckled for a moment before it faded away. It didn’t feel right to joked about, despite the fact it was _theirs_ to joke about.

“So,” Robin started, “how long are you here for?”

Steve let out a hum, leaning over the bed to place his can and rose on the bedside table. “Until tomorrow morning. It’s not as bad as it looks, really.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Robin hummed. “Whatever you say, dingus. But the second you’re outta here I think we have to organize the first official Steve & Robin because you love Alex P. Keaton and my mom has Family Ties on tape.”

Steve visible perked up, back straightening. “Now _that_ sounds like a perfect Get Well Soon gift.”


End file.
